FREE BOOKS

Author's List




PREV.   NEXT  
|<   140   141   142   143   144   145   146   147   148   149   150   151   152   153   154   155   156   157   158   159   160   161   162   163   164  
165   166   167   168   169   170   171   172   173   174   175   176   177   178   179   180   181   182   183   184   185   186   187   188   189   >>   >|  
re bound, That heart transpierc'd with many a wound; These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, To leave the bonie banks of Ayr. Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales, Her healthy moors and winding vales; The scenes where wretched Fancy roves, Pursuing past, unhappy loves! Farewell, my friends! farewell, my foes! My peace with these, my love with those: The bursting tears my heart declare-- Farewell, the bonie banks of Ayr! Address To The Toothache My curse upon your venom'd stang, That shoots my tortur'd gums alang, An' thro' my lug gies mony a twang, Wi' gnawing vengeance, Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang, Like racking engines! When fevers burn, or argues freezes, Rheumatics gnaw, or colics squeezes, Our neibor's sympathy can ease us, Wi' pitying moan; But thee--thou hell o' a' diseases-- Aye mocks our groan. Adown my beard the slavers trickle I throw the wee stools o'er the mickle, While round the fire the giglets keckle, To see me loup, While, raving mad, I wish a heckle Were in their doup! In a' the numerous human dools, Ill hairsts, daft bargains, cutty stools, Or worthy frien's rak'd i' the mools,-- Sad sight to see! The tricks o' knaves, or fash o'fools, Thou bear'st the gree! Where'er that place be priests ca' hell, Where a' the tones o' misery yell, An' ranked plagues their numbers tell, In dreadfu' raw, Thou, Toothache, surely bear'st the bell, Amang them a'! O thou grim, mischief-making chiel, That gars the notes o' discord squeel, Till daft mankind aft dance a reel In gore, a shoe-thick, Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal A townmond's toothache! Lines On Meeting With Lord Daer^1 This wot ye all whom it concerns, I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns, October twenty-third, [Footnote 1: At the house of Professor Dugald Stewart.] A ne'er-to-be-forgotten day, Sae far I sprackl'd up the brae, I dinner'd wi' a Lord. I've been at drucken writers' feasts, Nay, been bitch-fou 'mang godly priests-- Wi' rev'rence be it spoken!-- I've even join'd the honour'd jorum, When mighty Squireships of the quorum, Their hydra drouth did sloken. But wi' a Lord!--stand out my sh
PREV.   NEXT  
|<   140   141   142   143   144   145   146   147   148   149   150   151   152   153   154   155   156   157   158   159   160   161   162   163   164  
165   166   167   168   169   170   171   172   173   174   175   176   177   178   179   180   181   182   183   184   185   186   187   188   189   >>   >|  



Top keywords:
Farewell
 

stools

 

Toothache

 
priests
 

mankind

 

Scotland

 

tricks

 

knaves

 

dreadfu

 

townmond


surely

 
numbers
 

plagues

 
misery
 
ranked
 

making

 

discord

 

mischief

 

squeel

 

spoken


dinner

 

drucken

 

feasts

 

writers

 

drouth

 
sloken
 

honour

 

mighty

 

Squireships

 

quorum


sprackl

 

concerns

 
Rhymer
 

Meeting

 

October

 

Stewart

 

forgotten

 

Dugald

 

Professor

 

twenty


Footnote
 
toothache
 

Address

 

declare

 

bursting

 
farewell
 

shoots

 
gnawing
 
vengeance
 

Tearing